


pieces of light.

by annelesbonny



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, general Quentin related mental illness issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annelesbonny/pseuds/annelesbonny
Summary: #1. Now you live with the thing crawling back up your throat.(Or, a collection of snippets I can’t get out of my head)





	pieces of light.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is new for me. But this show has utterly captivated me and now I'm writing. Like, a lot more than I expected to be. This is basically just a place for me to post shit. They're not really short enough to be drabbles or long enough to be one shots so here they are instead. 
> 
> Warnings are in the tags.

1.

 

 

 

> _"The fear: that nothing survives._
> 
> _The greater fear: that something does."_

 

Now what?

 

Now you live with the thing crawling back up your throat. You live with your choices and their aftershocks, the tremors that reverberate through your clenched jaw and rattle your teeth. There is a shadow expanding your rib cage, threatening to snuff out your heart and its red-raw light, its steady drum-beat. You almost want to let it, just to see what happens. Will you see that light they talk about? Maybe you’re at the wrong end of the tunnel.

 

Once, you thought about throwing yourself in front of a subway train. Calculating speed and the average time it takes for the emergency brake to fully engage, your odds are good and you’d be hard-pressed not to see the screaming fluorescent brightness in the millisecond before impact even if it’s not quite the light you were promised.

 

Ultimately, though, you decide against it. You’d leave behind a huge mess for everyone, and you’ve always thought it’d be best to go quietly.

 

But then, magic happens and you never quite get around to killing yourself.

 

Your world ends, stutters and restarts so many times you’re in danger of losing track. But some things are worth holding onto and you find them again and again. Or maybe they find you; though you like to think you’ve gotten a little better at asserting agency over your own narrative.

 

Something is different this time, however. Things have always been dark for you, but now the bleeding won’t stop; instead, it spreads: dark and viscous and iron-tainted. You no longer have to look down at your hands to see red; it’s all that you see.

 

Except when you look at them. When you look at them, you see something warm and familiar. Something like home. Something like light.

 

So, you walk towards it.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone while proctoring an exam at work. I think it shows. Work title and chapter title both come from "The Language of the Birds" by Richard Siken.


End file.
